Heart Failure in the Air

On Bosta beach we roam,

past young children wrestling with the wind

past dogs panting as they run across the sands

we look towards the cliffs

at the rocks standing tall

which upon inspection contain

families of ecosystems

flies buzzing in and out of cracks

grass rooted deep inside stones.

 

The background chatter of the seagulls,

clashing in tone with that of the holidaymakers

who laugh ironically about

“winter clothes on August beach”

the waves don’t smash against the cliffs

or lap at the shore,

the sand feels wet and hard

beneath my toes

as the sun hides behind the clouds.

 

Grey and grey

and

beautiful.

 

We look at the sea,

turquois in colour,

the sand

white and golden.

 

Now and then

the sun pokes out

from the clouds

gaining confidence

with each smile it procures.

 

We wander along this beach,

admiring its contrasts,

the differences each second,

depending on the light

or where the eye falls.

 

We remark at the jellyfish

or laugh at the crab

waving its legs in the air,

upside down.

 

We pass hastily the bird,

Which met its end in this semi-paradise.

It lost its way in the air,

At the most crucial point

Fell into reality.

It lies spread magnificently

On the ground

Wingspan over one metre

Underbelly feathers

Clean and Soft

“What Happened?”

we wonder

“Heart Failure in the Air”

comes the reply.

What are you looking for?